Busted in Bollywood Page 8

  “What?”

  “Didn’t I tell you? This movie he’s backing has several New York scenes, so once it’s a wrap here, the cast and crew will be heading to the Big Apple for a few weeks. Drew’s definitely going, so perhaps you two can get properly acquainted there?”

  I didn’t know whether to kiss Rakesh or slap him. He deserved a kiss for being so astute and a slap for presuming to know more about what I wanted than I did. “Not interested.”

  Bollywood Boy would be in New York for a few weeks? Big deal. I didn’t want a fling, not anymore. Besides, after I revealed the trick I’d played on him, I’d be the last person he’d want to see.

  “You’re pretty cute when you’re in denial,” Rakesh said, grabbing my chin and tilting my face from side to side as if studying it.

  I elbowed him away. “Now you’ve had your fun, perhaps you’d like to hear that Drew knows my identity and is giving me grief over it.”

  “Drew knows?” His jaw dropped so far I placed a finger under his chin and guided it shut.

  “Uh-huh. And he’s becoming a real pain in the ass.”

  “How?”

  “He’s giving me a hard time about telling you the truth, implying I’m a gold digger out to fleece you for every rupee, about to ruin your family’s reputation, blah, blah, blah.”

  Rakesh’s brows drew together, the frown not detracting from his good looks. “Why didn’t you tell him I already know?”

  “Um… I didn’t think you wanted anyone else in on it.”

  And I wanted to fool Mr. Hotshot-Know-It-All and have the last laugh.

  Maybe it came down to control issues, and having Drew bully me into telling the truth chafed. Maybe I hated being told what to do. But whatever the reasons, I wanted to play this game a little longer. I was suffering Mojito Monday and Rita withdrawal. I had to tolerate Anjali’s channel-surfing as she alternated between swooning over Ridge on Bold and the Beautiful and lusting after Leno—unfathomable. I’d contemplated flirting with a peeping Tom Lone Ranger look-alike.

  I definitely needed another form of entertainment, even if it was an adolescent ruse. It wouldn’t hurt to keep him at arm’s length either. The guy rattled me. Not in a good way. His accusations and defense of his friend I could handle. The subliminal attraction? Not so much.

  I’d come to Mumbai to help Rita, but my trip had been more about nursing my emotional bruises than altruism. Having Drew believe the worst in me was probably good. Last thing I needed was him to pick up on the buzz between us and want to explore it.

  Falling for Tate had been dumb. Falling for a guy on the other side of the planet would be monumentally stupid.

  Should I feel guilty? Probably. Did I? Hell no.

  Rakesh didn’t buy my lousy excuse. “But he already knows. He’s a good guy, but we’ll have to swear him to secrecy. Why didn’t you tell—I get it.” Rakesh snapped his fingers, his frown clearing, his mouth curving into a smug grin. “You’re enjoying baiting him, making him squirm, knowing a secret he doesn’t. I bet you’re loving every minute of it, you devious woman.”

  “He’s a pompous, arrogant ass who should mind his own business.” I folded my arms and pretended to be in a huff when in fact I liked having a friend I could talk to about this. Rakesh knew Drew well, he’d guessed I was interested in the guy, and he’d proven to be an unexpected ally in a short space of time. I liked having him in my corner despite the fact he gave me as much grief as Rita. If the two ever joined forces, I’d be in trouble.

  “Listen to yourself. Pompous and arrogant?” Rakesh chuckled as he led me to the car, softly singing “Drew and Shari sitting in a tree, K.I.S.S.I.N.G.”

  “Juvenile.”

  “Flirt.”

  “Idiot.”

  “Gorgeous.”

  “Schmuck.”

  “Sassy.”

  “Stop. How can I keep insulting you when you’re so damn nice?”

  “That’s my girl,” he said, giving my shoulders an affectionate squeeze as Buddy opened the door for us and I slid inside.

  I sagged against the worn leather seats, half listening to Rakesh making idle chatter with Buddy, the soothsayer’s words echoing in my head.

  Rich man bring joy. Some pain. You decide.

  In my exhausted state—I wasn’t cut out for all this drama—I didn’t like the sound of pain. The rich man? Been there, look how it turned out. The joy I could handle, no problems at all.

  As for decision making, I’d been lousy in the past. Time to wise up.

  chapter six

  To: Amrita.M@hotmail.com

  From: Shari.J@yahoo.com

  Hope you’re sitting down, Rita, because this promises to be long.

  My first trip to Bollywood didn’t quite work out as expected. Your aunt threw a hissy fit over some fortune-teller’s prediction. If her voice hadn’t attracted a crowd, her impromptu striptease would have.

  The list of what you owe me is growing daily: in addition to Leo, the Valentino, Fifth Ave, and the Manolos, add psychotherapy.

  Anyway, back to Bollywood. I wasn’t discovered, didn’t even have a chance to sneak into a scene as an extra, what with

  a) fending off Bollywood Boy (hereafter known as BB)’s constant nagging about telling Rakesh the truth—like, duh, he already knows!

  b) playacting the devoted fiancée—insert pic of me sticking two fingers down my throat

  c) saving your family from utter humiliation if Anjali’s sari had unwound all the way.

  In other news, I’m still stringing BB along. Rakesh—aka Lover Boy, yours—wants to rub my nose in the fact BB is on my case. LB also thinks I have a ‘thing’ for BB. As if. I’m supposed to be the devoted fiancée, remember?

  I also have to come clean about the charade to BB, and LB is taking me to their offices so I can do it. The only place I can have some privacy with BB without the all-seeing scandalmongers reporting back to Mama Rama (as opposed to Banana Rama). I must be really losing it if I’m making jokes about our all-time fave band of the ’80s.

  What else? Oh yeah, forgot to mention I’m going to be rich and famous and find true love if I make the right decision. At least I didn’t have to pay the fortune-teller. Though if you believe that, you believe LB is your one true love and you’ll live happily ever after.

  That’s about it for now. Not long ’til I’m home, can’t wait!

  Ship the Manolos to my new apartment (a girl can dream, right?) and have the therapist waiting. Seriously, if I have another day like today, I’m going to need one.

  Hugs,

  Shari xoxo

  After I’d clicked the send button later that evening, I wondered if I should email Drew. Wouldn’t a quick, impersonal note to tell him the truth be so much easier than a face-to-face meeting?

  And miss the priceless look on his face when he discovered I’d been stringing him along for the hell of it? Nah…

  “Shari, letter for you.”

  Anjali’s voice drifted upstairs, a few octaves lower than usual. Her near brush with nudity in front of the masses had subdued her, and she’d barely spoken a word during dinner.

  Padding downstairs, I wondered who’d sent me a letter. Nobody did snail mail these days. Plus, no one knew I was here, apart from Rita, my folks, and U.S. Immigration. Weird.

  “Go on, open it.” Anjali thrust the large blue envelope at me as I reached the bottom stair. “This is too exciting.”

  Had I missed something? The way Anjali wrung her hands, receiving a letter ranked right up there with Ridge marrying Brooke for the tenth time on her favorite soap.

  “Exciting?” I played dumb, knowing I’d get a verbose explanation one way or the other.

  “Yes, yes, very exciting. The young man who delivered it was very handsome, very big, great body,
make good husband.” She clapped her hands like a hyperactive child while I resisted the urge to clap my hands over her ears in a swift judo chop.

  I didn’t want a husband, least of all one who delivered letters reeking of Brut 33.

  Choosing silence as the best defense against Anjali at her matchmaking worst, I tore open the envelope and reeled back as the overpowering stench shot straight up my nostrils. Even if this guy was Will Shakespeare and Dan Brown rolled into one, I couldn’t tolerate longer than a quick scan of his prose before I fainted from the fumes.

  “What does it say?” Anjali peered over my shoulder and I took a subtle step away, her resident garlic odor warring with the letter’s fragrance in a heady combination equal to chloroform.

  To the woman of my dreams,

  You haunt me, you impress me, you inspire me.

  Seeing you on the big screen was the highlight of my life, until you stepped down from the heavens and entered our mortal sphere.

  I am in awe of your talent and can’t wait until we are together, as was written in the stars many moons ago.

  Yours forever,

  LR

  Short, sharp, not so sweet. Freaking great. In a week, I’d managed to capture the interest of some psycho.

  “Is it good news?” If Anjali’s eyes bulged any further, they’d pop and roll across the cracked ceramic tiles.

  “Not really.” I wouldn’t mind being some guy’s inspiration… if I knew who the hell he was. Being the muse of a weirdo who hand-delivered aftershave-drenched letters? No thanks. “What did this guy look like?”

  Anjali puffed up with pride, as if seeing my stalker in the flesh was a privilege. “Very big.” Her arms spread over a yard wide. “Shoulders this broad. Tall. Nice smile. White teeth.”

  I hated to disillusion her but so far, her description could’ve fit countless guys.

  “And stylish clothes. Denim never looked so good.” She gave me a lewd wink before continuing. “I’ve always had a thing for cowboys. That Stetson added a real authentic touch.”

  My blood chilled. I knew this guy. Had to be the one who’d been staring at me the other night.

  “Can I read it?”

  “Here.” I handed her the letter, sneezing five times in succession as my nasal passages did their dandiest to expel the odor from my nose.

  A tiny frown appeared between her perfectly sculpted eyebrows. (Despite my admiration, I hadn’t braved the string-twirling, hair-pulling beauticians yet. Think I’d stick to wax for now)

  “He thinks you’re an actress? He must have the wrong woman.” Her shoulders sagged with disappointment while I perked up instantly. Perhaps Psycho Guy had made a mistake?

  “And what does LR stand for? You’d think he would’ve used his real name at least.” The frown deepened as she shook her head. “Dear, dear, the men of today.”

  “Probably stands for Loser Rat.”

  “Maybe Lonely Raj?”

  “Lousy Reject.”

  “How about Lovely Rarity?”

  “Living Refuse.”

  “Naughty girl.” She wiggled her finger under my nose and handed me the letter, which I held at arm’s length in case my nose rebelled again. “He’s probably some lonesome guy who’s smitten with you.”

  Lonesome… lonesome…

  Couldn’t be. LR… Lone Ranger? Could Psycho Guy possibly be emulating a screen legend? Way too spooky, considering I’d already dubbed him that the other night.

  Could my stay get any weirder?

  “What should I tell him if he comes again?”

  “That I’ve reported him to the police.”

  “What nonsense. A nice young man like that?”

  “Where I come from, there’s a name for nice young men like that. It’s ‘stalker.’”

  Anjali sniffed, affronted. “You girls of today are too picky. In my day if a young man like that came knocking on our door, our parents would’ve married us off before we could blink.”

  I refrained from pointing out the obvious, that her parents’ choice in grooms seemed dubious at best. “Besides, he’s made a harmless mistake. He obviously thinks an actress lives here. I’ll set the young man straight if he visits again.”

  Not wanting to labor the point, I bid Anjali goodnight and climbed the stairs, holding the letter between my fingertips as if it were radioactive.

  I didn’t think there’d been a mistake, apart from a case of mistaken identity. This guy had been watching me, he knew where I lived, and he’d hand-delivered his fragrant missive. I should be petrified. Instead, a rueful chuckle developed into full-blown hysterics when I reached my room and fell facedown on the bed, getting tangled in the mosquito net and laughing harder.

  Taking into consideration what I’d been through the last three months, my life could be scripted for Bollywood Boy’s next epic: fired, dumped, evicted, played at fake fiancée, and now stalked.

  Yeah, life couldn’t get more interesting.

  …

  Testing my interesting life theory the next day, I paid a visit to Eye-on-I, the brainchild of the dynamic duo.

  “Glad you could make it, darling.” Rakesh air-kissed my cheeks like a New York princess, playing the part for Drew, who hovered behind him like the all-pervading wet blanket he was.

  “Thanks for sending the limo. It caused quite a stir outside Anjali’s place.” I’d felt like a celebrity before reality hit and I realized I’d have to fight my way through a crowd ten-deep to reach the car. Thankfully, Anjali’s sumo strength came in handy and she’d cut a path through the masses better than Moses.

  “Would you like a tour of our humble office?”

  Real humble from what I could see in the marble and chrome foyer, complete with forty-yard atrium, giant plasma screen, and cascading waterfall.

  “Drew has to tag along as chaperone but you don’t mind, do you?”

  I bit back a grin as Rakesh winked. What were the odds he conveniently found a way to leave me stranded with Drew? Not that I’d object. I’d be heading home at the end of next week and though nothing would ever come of my teensy-weensy interest in the gorgeous Brit, it was time to ’fess up.

  “That’d be great.” I gazed at Rakesh with faux adoration, enjoying the sight of Drew glowering at my fakeness over his friend’s shoulder. “Lead the way.”

  To Drew’s credit he maintained a polite façade as we toured the impressive offices of India’s number one IT company. Until Rakesh left us alone in the lavish conference room, citing an urgent phone call as his excuse.

  I waited until the door clicked shut before turning to Drew. “I need to tell—”

  “—Rakesh the truth. Which you haven’t done yet and it makes me sick.” He stalked across the plush Persian carpet and flung himself into a sleek leather chair at the head of the table.

  I tried to work up a temper at his pretentious behavior but failed miserably, what with admiring the way the Hugo Boss suit clung to his back and moved over his butt as he’d strode to his desk. “You’re wrong about me.”

  I followed at a more sedate pace, making sure I worked it as I strolled toward him, and for a split second I glimpsed something akin to desire in his surly glare.

  “Wrong? The only thing wrong is this fiasco you’re making of Rakesh’s life. Your lies, your acting, your—”

  “Shut the hell up for one second.” I had the satisfaction of seeing his jaw clench as I leaned over him. “He knows, you big British geek. He’s known from the start, he’s happy with it, and the only person who has a problem with any of this is you. So how about you shrug that big chip off your shoulders and get down on your knees and start groveling. I won’t accept anything less than a full apology.”

  “He knows?”

  I tried not to feel sorry for him as his mouth open
ed and closed like a sideshow clown at Central Park during a recent carnival.

  “Yeah, apparently you IT guys are one step ahead of the rest of us, though you never did tell me how you found out I’m not Rita. Anyway, Rakesh is one of the good guys, unlike present company, and didn’t want to shame her family so he decided to keep his mouth shut.”

  Drew shook his head, mussing his hair, my fingers tingling with the urge to smooth it back. “I don’t get this. Any of it.”

  “Rita doesn’t want a husband, especially one hand-picked by her parents, so she sent me to ditch him.” I slid into the seat next to Drew. “We look alike, we thought Rakesh hadn’t seen her pic, seemed harmless enough. Her folks are strict Hindu and she can’t overtly go against their wishes, hence the subterfuge.”

  “Some ruse.”

  “Rakesh had investigated his betrothed and knew I was an imposter from the start. Upshot is, he likes what he sees in Rita so he agreed to perpetuate our charade in exchange for a meeting with the real thing in New York.”

  He eyeballed me with blatant skepticism. “I take it you’re telling the truth this time and not having a laugh at my expense?”

  “Been there, done that.” My cheeky smile aimed to infuriate. “Joke’s on you, Bollywood Boy.”

  “Bollywood Boy?”

  Oops, I’d been having so much fun, the last part slipped out.

  “Bollywood Boy.” This time, he said it quieter, slower, as if rolling it over his tongue to check the fit. To my amazement he laughed, startling in its volume and unexpectedness, with a sexy depth that had me clenching my thighs together before I did something crazy, like spread them.

  “You’re an amazing woman, Miss Jones.” If his laughter had shocked me, it had nothing on the hundred-watt smile making me wish I had a protective force field.

  “Thanks.” I batted my eyelashes, slipping into flirt mode, something I’d wanted to do since I first set eyes on the guy. Kudos to Rakesh for having the foresight to arrange this private meeting, bless his scheming heart.